The Rebel Heir (19 page)

He grinned and brushed a strand of hair from her face, placing a kiss on the top of her head as he did. “You're almost there. Just a few more words. Perhaps you need more encouragement.”

“No.” She took two steps backward until her heels bumped the wall. “I-I'm quite…”

“Evie, has anyone ever spoken to you this way?” He took slow steps to close the gap between them.

“No,” she breathed.

“Do you like it when I do?” He grinned down at her as if he could hear all the thoughts she was too afraid to voice aloud. “I think you do. Do you want me to continue?”

“Do I have to say that as well?” she asked.

“No. I've learned in my line of work that it's sometimes necessary to give someone a taste of what they want before they'll pay the price.”

“Is that what you're doing to me? Is this a taste of what's to come?” Heaven help her, she hoped it was.

“Only if you want it. That's my price.” He shifted her hair from her shoulder as he spoke, letting it fall down her back.

“That seems…” Whispers of his touch brushed down the side of her neck as he moved her hair. She worked not to lean into his palm and feel the full force of his hand on her skin. “…reasonable.”

“I thought so as well.” He shifted even closer to her, leaning his arm on the wall above her head and surrounding her without the benefit of his embrace to steady her. “If you tell me you want me to kiss you, I'll kiss you here.” He spoke the words against the sensitive skin beneath her ear before moving down her neck, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of his lips.

She splayed her hands on the wall behind her to keep from tipping sideways. He wasn't even touching her, and still she struggled to breathe.

“I would kiss my way down your neck to just here where I can see your pulse beating rather fast. Is it beating fast because you want me to kiss you, Evie?” he asked against her skin. “You know my terms. Say the words. This is only the beginning. I could show you a lifetime of pleasure if you want me to.”

“A—a lifetime?” Her voice came out thick, the words heavy on her tongue.

He lifted his head from her neck and looked at her. He seemed as surprised by his words as she had been. He hadn't meant anything by it. She knew that. He had always been about to walk out her door. And she didn't want one misplaced word to stop what he was doing right now.

“You don't have to explain,” she almost begged. “I understand.”

“So, you are able to speak. This would lead one to believe you were simply enjoying the thought of what I might do to you too much to stop me.”

“I was not,” she lied.

“Then you don't want me to kiss you.” He pushed from the wall and turned away from her.

“Ash!” she exclaimed a bit too loudly, grabbing a fistful of his coat and pulling him back toward her. She rose to her toes, prepared to kiss him and be done with his games, when she saw the gloating grin on his face. The man knew precisely what he was doing to her. He'd done just as he'd said—given her a taste of what she could have, and now she did want it. The devilish salesman.

But before she could make any further move toward him, a knock sounded at her door. Evangeline jumped, and Ash was already moving toward the open window.

“Just a minute,” she called.

Looking to the window, she met Ash's gaze for just a second, but in that second was the promise of what would happen tomorrow night.

“Vauxhall Gardens,” he whispered and she nodded.

“Evangeline, did I hear you yelling something about ashes?” her mother called from the hall.

“Yes. The wind outside, you know. Ashes blew from the fireplace.”

“I'll send for a maid.”

“No need, I've just swept every ash from the room.” She grimaced at the truth of her statement as she watched him disappear into the night. “All is fine. Good night.”

“Very well, but do try not to bellow in such a manner. It's quite unseemly.”

Evangeline raced to the window when she heard her mother's retreating footsteps, looking out into the black of night. He was gone. Sinking into the chair Ash had lounged in only a few minutes ago, she touched the pulse at her neck where he'd spoken his last words. Unseemly. Unladylike. She'd spent years in training to
not
be something. All Ash asked was for her to be. He'd accused her of hiding, and perhaps he was right.

Tomorrow night she would go to Vauxhall Gardens with her aunt and uncle, because she wanted to do so. She would enjoy her evening because she wanted to, and then she would tell Ash everything she wanted him to hear—beginning with asking for his kiss.

* * *

He spent a great deal of his time waiting beneath trees for Evie to arrive places. It wasn't that Ash minded, because a tree always provided one a convenient place to lean, but he would rather spend that time with Evie than the tree. The rough bark of the trunk pulled at the coat he'd worn to guard against the night chill. What was he doing? He should be wooing Lord Knottsby's guests into investing at least a small amount in steam—that was why he was here. He didn't need much from any one gentleman present, but he couldn't only target Rightworth or it would look suspicious.

St. James had somehow managed an invitation for the two of them to join the Knottsbys' party at Vauxhall Gardens. He'd also asked that Ash not involve Knottsby himself. Of course there had been no explanation—there never was with St. James. But there were other gentlemen for Ash to focus his efforts upon. And the small gathering would make that task much easier. Evie being here, on the other hand, would only make his true task more difficult. He knew that fact, and yet…

“If you continue to skulk about out here in the dark, the other guests will become suspicious,” St. James said in a low voice as he stepped out of the thatched roof pavilion.

“She isn't here,” Ash grumbled. He shot one more glance up the path before joining St. James.

“Nor should she be,” his friend hissed. In his dark gray attire, it sounded as if the night itself had spoken. “Have you considered how this will end?”

Ash sighed and ran a hand over his weary eyes. “Not well.”

“She should either be used as a pawn in your scheme, or she shouldn't be involved at all. There was never a chance of it ending well between you.”

“I'm aware.” He knew he and Evie were not destined for a happy ending. That knowledge, along with the threat she posed to his plans, should be enough to keep him away from her, but it wasn't. He'd known what an idiot he was when he scaled the side of her home last night, and he knew it now. But that knowledge didn't keep him from looking up the path toward the iron bridge one last time before following St. James toward the open structure where their party was gathered.

“Lord Crosby, do have some champagne,” Lady Knottsby offered when they came into view. “We're celebrating our daughter's upcoming nuptials, you know.”

Ash accepted a glass of champagne and stepped into the pale light of the pavilion. Thousands of colored glass lanterns hung around the garden, making the trees look alive with fairies. Warm light of every color spilled onto the stone floor where they gathered, aided by several lanterns that had been placed on the table at the rear of the structure. Refreshments were set out there as well, giving the gathering an intimate overtone. It would have been a lovely party, if Evie had found the courage to come. As it was, he was left to focus on his work and chat with the hostess. He hid his sigh behind his glass as he took a drink.

St. James waved away the offer of drink as he always did, instead lacing his fingers behind his back. “I hope your family is well after the fire last week.”

“Oh, quite,” Lady Knottsby replied as she took a fresh glass from the footman who circled the gazebo, offering champagne and arrack punch. The remnants of beautiful youth clung to Lady Knottsby's cheekbones, and she tossed Ash and St. James a smile before lifting the glass to her lips.

“One never expects such tragedy to strike.” Something dark and unspoken passed over St. James's usually stoic face. The man had never intended a fire to break out when he sent Brice to the jewelry store on Bond Street. Ash knew that without a doubt. But one couldn't offer sympathies too heavy-handedly in such a situation.

“Terrible circumstances—that fire,” Lady Knottsby said with a shake of her blond head. A pout lingered about her lips for a second before her face lit up with glee. “But those flames led to quite the happy event for our family. The soon-to-be bride will be here shortly. She wanted to look her best to see her fiancé, you know. We came along without her. Isabelle was quite ready to be off.” Lady Knottsby indicated her other daughter with a wave of her hand, sloshing champagne to the floor in the process.

At the mention of her name, Isabelle turned around. She barely spared a glance for Ash or her own mother. Instead, her gaze locked on St. James. Her eyes held a desperation that most wouldn't notice, but Ash had carved a living from looks like that. The desperate would pay any price for a bit of hope, and he was a purveyor of dreams.

“Would you excuse me a moment?” his friend asked, moving across the pavilion.

Interesting. It seemed St. James was indeed playing the part of hope this evening. Ash watched him join Isabelle. St. James was as secretive and difficult to read as ever, but Isabelle wasn't. Her eyes lit up as he moved across the room in her direction, as though she'd just spotted her oldest childhood acquaintance. Even now she was laughing at something he'd said. St. James knew how to jest? Who could have guessed it?

“Lord Crosby, are you enjoying all that London has to offer?” her ladyship asked, pulling his attention away from the urgent whispers and laughter from the other side of the gazebo.

“I believe I am,” Ash said in a rare moment of complete honesty. “This is the longest stay I've ever had in the city.”

“I do hope you aren't planning to leave too soon. It would be a shame for society to lose such a fine gentleman as yourself.” She tipped forward a bit when she moved to tap his arm with her fan, spilling more champagne on the floor.

“I have no plans to leave just yet,” he said, eyeing the woman's husband across the gazebo. The man was so consumed in his own conversation that he hadn't noticed his wife had become quite foxed.

“Do you have an interest in any of the ladies this season?” She took a small step closer to him and lowered her voice to say, “You're quite handsome to be unattached, you know.”

“Unfortunately it is business that brings me to town, my lady.” He walked a fine line. In his experience, ladies beyond their limits for alcohol could be easily offended by a lack of interest. One second she could be doing nothing but batting lashes, and the next she would be raising the alarm to her husband. He shot a glance toward the man once more, but he didn't seem in the habit of looking in his wife's direction.

“Mmmm, then perhaps someone with a bit more experience in life is more to your taste?” She grabbed another glass of champagne and lifted it to her lips. “Everyone should have companionship, Lord Crosby.”

She was almost correct. Someone like her who needed such things should have companionship—her husband's companionship. Ash didn't live such a life.
Never stay. Never become attached.
He took a sip of his champagne, searching for the right way to proceed.

On occasion he had used women like her to aid him in whatever he was selling at the time—within reason, of course. He didn't have to agree to all a woman desired to gain her assistance. A few well-placed words of encouragement and she would help with his scheme. After all, ladies had a great deal of influence over how their husbands' funds were spent—even ladies desperate for those same men's attention. But when he looked at Lady Knottsby, all he could see was Evie's aunt. St. James was right—he'd well and truly mucked up this job. “I believe I'm otherwise spoken for.”

“Oh? Lucky lady.”

“As are you.” With a slight tip of his glass, he indicated Lord Knottsby across the pavilion. “Your husband boasts of your beauty to all who will listen.”

“He does?” Her eyes went round as she searched for the man in question.

There it was—hope. There were many less desirable aspects of Ash's work, but he'd always enjoyed the look in someone's eyes as they wondered if their lot in life might finally change. “How could he not? Your beauty lights the gardens more than lanterns ever could.”

She batted her lashes at him and listed sideways a step. “Lord Crosby, you flirt.”

“Then I'm in good company.” The woman was indeed a flirt, but he could see why. It came from the same desperation that he'd seen in her daughter's eyes only a minute ago. Lady Knottsby didn't truly want him. She wanted what she clearly didn't possess—the admiration of her own husband.

She lifted the glass to her lips and took a drink, her eyes dancing over to where her husband stood. When the man became aware of her gaze and looked in their direction, Lady Knottsby smiled. Hope was a beautiful thing. She turned back to Ash and opened her mouth to continue their conversation. But when a twig crunched and movement caught his eye, his attention snapped to the path outside.

Moonlight shone off pale skin and the lanterns lit tiny pins in her hair, making Evie look like she was made of the night sky. He couldn't turn away. She was chatting with another lady as she moved down the path. Ash didn't notice the other woman, beyond noting it was the woman from the fire. His eyes were trained only on Evie and how she was gliding in his direction.

“Lord Crosby?” Lady Knottsby leaned to the side to gain his attention, almost tipping over the pavilion railing with the movement.

Ash blinked at her, disoriented as if just waking from a dream.